Il Usignolo
by Ji Dragon
Summary: All is silent in the air. All who are awake begin to tremble with fear as a distinct song plays in the distance - one that condemns the death of one. But for whom, they never know.
1. La Mission

Il Usignolo

_I: La Mission_

Venice was far from a quiet city, but at night there was an air of peacefulness that she appreciated. It would calm her as she alternated her fingers across the long instrument in her hands, her legs dangling off the edge of one of the taller buildings that decorated the skyline. She'd heard some of the people of the city claiming it to be a workshop for a new artist moving to the city.

The particular song she was playing was one of her favorites. A lullaby her father used to play for her when he had extra time. Though she took care to play softly that night, as to avoid the townspeople growing worried from their ridiculous rumors whenever she played her _dizi_.

Silence, she believed, had the capability to be the most dangerous thing in the world. It could drive a person mad under the right circumstances, especially when they were haunted by the ghosts of their past. And so, she felt it her civil duty to do them a favor before they died.

Music was powerful. It had the capability of conveying any emotion she wanted.

At that particular moment, she wanted serenity. It was the night before she was expected to begin her hunt for yet another man – one by the name of Ezio Auditore da Firenze. She did not know him personally, but she had heard of his deeds, whispered across the plains of _Italia_. One of the key players in the Order of the Assassins. She had no quarrel with him, but she wouldn't be paid until he was dead.

Her assignment was simple; kill him and do it before he realizes someone is specifically out to do so. And he was rumored to be quite the sharp fellow. She assumed he was a cautious man, considering the nature of his occupation. Her employer, a rather fat, sinister man who refused to disclose his name, was very terse in his orders. He also not-so-subtly hinted to make the poor bastard suffer before he died. She hadn't replied when he suggested it, but she had no intention to do it. She didn't like the man in the least; he gave off such an eerie aura that made her uncomfortable when she was in his presence.

Death wasn't something she intended to play with. No matter how despicable the person, she felt that dying in itself was painful enough. No need to add on to the effect for the sadistic enjoyment of the one doing it. She took no personal pleasure in her job, nonetheless. She did what she had to in order to survive.

She noticed the sun was beginning to rise, and figured it best to sleep. Ezio Auditore was a mobile man – tracking him down was not going to be a simple job.

* * *

She awoke with the sun beating down on her head and her back aching incessantly. At that point, however, she was used to it. The concept of a bed to sleep in had long since past. She did not even remember if she slept in a bed after her father died, and she didn't care much for the lost luxury. It was possible to sleep anywhere, it was all about the mindset.

There seemed to be something of commotion going on below her, and she awkwardly poked her head over the edge of the building to see three figures discussing something. So not to be suspicious, she ducked her head back over the edge to not be visible and quietly listened to see if they were discussing anything of interest.

"And now, I present to you, your workshop, _Ser_ da Vinci!" cried a blue-clad man to another man she saw was the artist that the workshop was built for. "We spared no expense in its design. You'll see! It is perfect; as if you never left _Firenze_! I wish you great success and hope you enjoy _Venezia_ as much she enjoys having you!" The man bowed to the artist, palm extended, obviously asking for money for all of his troubles. The artist did not seem to notice, patting him on the shoulder. He was a handsome man – with medium-length brown hair topped with a stylish red hat reminiscent of her homeland. And from her height, she could even make out some freckles on his face.

"So here we are!" he exclaimed. "Exciting, isn't it? Care to come in?" He was speaking to a hooded, far more suspicious-looking man. She did not know what _exactly_ Assassins wore, but she had a feeling that that man was her target, as no man would dress in so strange a fashion. How convenient, she thought.

The man shook his head. "Maybe later," he said as he began to leave, "I need to visit the _Palazzo della Seta_. Try and gain an audience with Emilio." She'd been in Venice for about a week, and from what she heard from the people, Emilio Barbarigo was not a kind man. He was a ruthless merchant that managed to monopolize a good portion of the market, often terrorizing the poor families who made a living there.

"As you wish," he replied. "But should you find yourself with some free time, or another Codex page, don't hesitate to visit. My door is always open." Codex page? Her eyebrow rose at such a strange name, a curiosity growing in her head.

"_Grazie_, my friend." The artist opened his arms for something of a brotherly hug, and after a moment's awkward hesitation from the hooded one, they hugged briefly. She almost smirked – weren't the Italians supposed to be an emotional people?

"_Di nullo_," answered the artist, and both men went their separate directions. She waited a bit before tailing him, as she always did her targets before killing them. It benefited her to assess their movements before striking. Silently, she made her way across the rooftops right above him, realizing that he moved rapidly, even when walking. And then there were the times where he just broke out into a sprint with no warning, forcing her to do the same. It was certainly an annoying habit.

The first thing she noticed personality-wise was that he was definitely bold. He walked up to the _Palazzo_ and started to stare at it, analyzing the structure with narrowed eyes. She wondered if he was planning to scale the building and break in – and with such a multitude of guards. Yes, boldness was a strong trait in that man. Perhaps a bit _too_ bold for his own good.

Just then, a small band of thieves rushed past him and he stood still, dumbfounded by the spectacle. A female thief – something she didn't expect to see – dashed past and began to scale the wall like an expert. It would have gone quite well if the thieves had thought to take out the archers guarding the building from outside the walls, who were now shooting at the woman with deadly accuracy.

She almost thought the woman was going to get away until an arrow hit her straight in the back of the thigh, and she fell to the ground, groaning in agony for a moment before jumping back up to her feet and fleeing. And she did so straight into the chest of her target.

"Hey, I remember you," Ezio said to the woman.

"We need to go!" the woman insisted, out of breath and loosing blood quickly.

"You never did apologize for knocking me over." He is not a serious man either, she assessed with an analyzing raise of her eyebrow.

A terrified look crossed the woman's face as she glanced at two guards nearing. "_Now_."

Thankfully, he seemed to be a fast learner. "_Va bene_, where to?"

"The water," the thief replied, effectively confusing her. Venice was an aquatic city in every regard imaginable.

"That doesn't exactly narrow it down," Ezio pointed out, voicing her concern. She didn't reply, bolting in the opposite direction and thereby forcing him to protect her from the waves of guards appearing. She watched as he rather skillfully handled at least twenty of them before the woman ran off, limping and dripping the occasional bit of blood off of her leg.

He sprinted off after the woman, forcing her to leave her comfortable perch on the rooftop to pursue them. She realized that eventually that either he or the thieves he was bound to befriend at that point were going to notice her stalking him and either kill her, interrogate her, or both.

And she wanted to avoid such unpleasant situations at any cost. She leapt to the ground and blended herself in amongst the peasantry of Venice, careful to keep up with them as subtly as possible. Her outfit was not as obvious as her target's, thankfully for her, though it was a bit more decorative than people were used to seeing. Her father valued a mixture of style and practicality, personally seeing to it that her outfit was her favorite color – grayish blue. He claimed it matched her eyes, though she never agreed with him.

She watched closely as Ezio and the thief woman fought group after group of guards of about three to four, depending on how armored the men were. For a moment, she considered popping out to assist them when the brute showed up, armored from head to toe in gold, but Ezio once again exceeded her expectations and took him down without too much effort. The rumors she had heard were no laughing matter.

Soon, the woman could no longer walk, dropping to the ground. He wasted no time in lifting her and carrying her effortlessly. She quickly added both gentleman and womanizer to her mental list – she'd known her fair share of men with both of those traits. In fact, one was most likely actively looking for her – an annoyance she'd been dealing with since she was sixteen.

She pushed such arbitrary thoughts out of her head and focused on the task at hand; analysis of the target. She'd been tailing him for over an hour at that point and it was getting mundane, though it was amusing to see him barrel his way through so many guards. In their small conversations, she learned that the woman's name was Rosa.

Soon enough, they reached a boat where another of the thieves was waiting, confused as a hooded man brought forth his wounded comrade. A small, unimportant exchange occurred and Ezio volunteered to take care of the guards guarding the entrance to their safe house, which she knew the location of. The leader of Venice's thieves was a talkative man, and when he heard the stupid rumors surrounding her existence, he tracked her down. Antonio was, to say the least, surprised at how she looked in person, then promised not to spread the word around. He found it more fun that way.

Ezio was vastly outnumbered – and these guards were archers. She toyed with the idea of helping him; even if his death by the hands of a few guards would be convenient enough. Realizing that her employer, judging by the look of him, would probably skimp out on paying her if he died by another's arrow, she grabbed the bow on her back and hooked an arrow on. With careful aim, she let it fly and watched it sore through the neck of an unfortunately placed guard.

Careful to conceal herself to remain hidden, she climbed for higher ground to take out the ones scattered on the rooftops. Each one fell to the docks below as her arrows flew from her bow, and she resisted the urge to smirk smugly to herself. My aim improves daily, she thought proudly. When most of them were dead, she motioned to follow Ezio once more but was presented with a problem.

He was obviously suspicious as to why guards decided to commit suicide with their own arrows and was more cautious than before. She resolved to get to the Thieves' Guild the other, safer way, and quickly jumped in the opposite direction from whence she came.

* * *

Antonio, ever the sharp one, was outside in front of his headquarters and noticed her jumping about with time to spare. It frustrated her.

"Ah, my beautiful little bird!" he called out. "_Vieni qui_, Colette, do not be shy!"

She sighed. "Antonio, I am rather busy …"

"Nonsense!" he cried. "It will only take five minutes, come now." With another heaved sigh, she made her way to the ground, smiling as politely as she could at the social leader of the thieves of the Venice. He was not very attractive physically, but it was easily compensated with his way with words. His skin was rather pale and his angular face was framed with unkempt black hair that stretched down to the bottom of his neck. A finely trimmed mustache sat nicely on his upper lip.

"I cannot stay for long," she informed him. If Ezio knew of her existence, then her mission would be made ten times more difficult and nearly impossible. He could not know what was coming, if she chose to kill him.

He dismissed it with a casual, carefree gesture. "So, _bonjour_! _Comment ça va_?" She stifled a laugh at his terrible accent. Her language was not for this man.

"_Ça va, et toi?_" she replied.

He paused, biting his lip, forgetting the appropriate response. He gave up. "_Come sempre_."

She laughed softly. "Glad to hear it. Look, I am sorry I cannot stay but I _truly_ must–!"

"So you found a new target!" he exclaimed, hands on his hips with smug reassurance. "Now you do not have to be bored and terrify the townspeople with your music." Damn him and his wit, she mentally cursed.

She rolled her eyes. "It is of their own insane creation. In no way is my music a bad omen."

"And yet, every time it is heard, someone dies," he pointed out matter-of-factly. "Is that a dramatic habit or …?"

She shrugged. "With practice comes skill. Who am I to stop a love of mine because of paranoid, superstitious idiots?"

He threw his head back in a laugh. "Well said." Despite his persistent attitude, she quite liked Antonio. He gave her company in a fairly lonely occupation. Their conversation would have continued, had she not heard shouting and cursing from a distant corner.

"_Merde_," she snarled to herself. "Antonio, I must go." Before he could attempt to stop her again, she ran over to a wooden scaffold, scaled it and vanished from his line of sight. His attention was quickly drawn from her when Ezio carried Rosa into the yard.

"Rosa! What's happened?" Antonio asked, alarmed at her current state.

She looked severely wounded as Ezio laid her out on a nearby table. "Just get this thing out of me."

"Soon, soon, let's have a look first," he replied in a fatherly manner. "Clean entry and exit through the thigh, that's good."

"Get – it – out!" she commanded, grinding her teeth against the pain.

"Rosa, we must take care not–!"

She would have none of his medical nonsense, it seemed. "_Now_!"

He conceded without argument, cupping her cheek briefly. "_Come vuoi_," he then looked to the men around him. "_Tenetela_!" And the men did as they were told, holding her down as he broke the end of the arrow, eliciting a scream of pain. He ripped the other end from her thigh, and she screamed even louder, making Colette cringe from where she was perched.

"I am sorry, _piccola_," Antonio said.

"Sorry? _Ficcatelo nel culo_ your sorry!" Rosa roared, and she had to stifle a laugh at just how loud the woman was. It was something uncommon in France.

"Go fetch Bianca and be quick!" the thief leader ordered of one of his thieves. And so the two of them, Antonio and Ezio, tended to Rosa's wound as well as they could before the nurse was to arrive. She groaned and cursed like a drunken sailor the entire way through. "_Avanti!_ Get Rosa inside so that Bianca can close the wound."

As she was carried off, she laid out quite a few colorful curses, wishing he would catch plague – him and his apparent whore of a mother. The fact that he remained so unflinching throughout it was hilariously baffling to Colette.

"Thank you," he said to Ezio. "Rosa is most dear to me. If I had lost her …"

Ezio exhaled. "I've always had a soft spot for women in distress."

"So I've heard," he replied with a smirk. Even to Colette, who had known the man for all of an hour and a half –indirectly, but still– Ezio seemed like the type to drift between women. Often. Even with a job as demanding as that of an Assassin. Also a trait she'd seen quite a bit of in her hometown.

"Don't look so surprised," Antonio said as a suspicious look crossed the Assassin's face, "We know all about you, _Ser_ Ezio. Your work in Firenze and the rest of Tuscany. Good work, too! If not a little … unrefined."

"Then you know why I am in Venezia?" he asked.

"I can guess," Antonio answered, and Colette was not surprised in the least. "When you have a minute, come see me in my office. There's something we should discuss." She cursed under her breath – there was no possible way she could hear that without obnoxiously pressing her ear to the door.

She sighed to herself and figured she was done there for the day. She figured she could practice her flute before she decided to call it an official day. She had only learned enough information that her target had a womanizing tendency to rescue rather loud damsels in distress. She could only assume that he intended to kill Emilio Barbarigo, and that was only from his much earlier conversation with the artist.

In her occupation, assumptions were risky and dangerous.

With a sigh, she found an uninhabited rooftop in one of the more rundown corners of the city, pulled her flute from her bag and began to play a random melody off the top of her head. She closed her eyes and allowed her fingers to alternate across the holes of the instrument.

* * *

Colette played for about an hour or so, her legs idly dangling off the edge of the roof as she switched from soothing songs to more sped up tunes, all the while calming herself. It was so simple for her to be at ease with the _dizi_ at her side.

She was immediately altered to footsteps behind her, coming closer, but no one was important enough for her to stop her valuable practice time. They would simply have to wait and enjoy the music until she finished.

"Such beautiful music," a familiar voice commented from behind. "I do not think I have heard one as skilled as you." She casually turned her head to see none other than her target staring directly at her.

God dammit.

* * *

Dem translations:

_Ser_: Sir

_Firenze_: Florence

_Venezia_: Venice

_Palazzo_: Palace

_Grazie_: Thank you

_Di nullo_: It's nothing

_Va bene_: Alright/okay

_Vieni qui_: Come here

_Come sempre_: Like always

_Merde_: Shit

_Come vuoi_: As you wish

_Tenetela_: Hold it

_Piccola_: Sweetheart

_Ficcatelo nel culo_ your sorry: Shove your sorry up your ass

_Avanti_: Let's go


	2. Poignard

Il Usignolo

_II_: _Poignard_

For five long minutes, the Assassin sat beside her and watched silently as she played, making no kind of move against her. He seemed to be simply enjoying the music, closing his eyes in appreciation as the notes drifted into the Venetian air. When she finally stopped, he applauded her for a few moments.

"I can see why such music terrifies the people of this city," he observed quietly. "Do not think they have been ignoring your presence here. The notorious, yet musical killer."

She shrugged, and he grew more curious, continuing. "It is one thing we seem to have in common, and I do not have many things in common with others." The both of them stared, silent, at the night sky that hung over Venice. "You are probably wondering why I am here."

"Yes," she replied, removing her hood. Hostility was not going to get him to leave. He stared at her, baffled for a moment.

"You are a …" he began to say, mildly astonished.

"… woman, yes," she politely finished for him.

"And not from _Italia_, I see," Ezio commented, and she noted his rather quick set of ears. "Where do you hail from?"

"Is that relevant as to why you are here, Ezio Auditore?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked. "_Francia._" Colette was impressed by so rapid a conclusion. "A beautiful country, if I may so. I have heard the women can be dangerous … but perhaps, not to this extent."

She could not help but laugh at the man's audacity. "And I have heard the men of Italy are cowards and would much rather spend their days in brothels than hold their own in a fight. You should not listen to everything you hear."

"And how would you know how I hold myself in a fight?" he inquired.

"Your deeds are not unknown to me, nor anyone else in your country," she pointed out, and he should have been well aware of it at that point. "Obviously, we would not be speaking if you could not defend yourself."

He nodded in agreement. "Your Italian is impeccable. Where did you learn it?"

Talkative one. "Again, that does not answer my question as to why you are here." He held up his hands in defeat.

"I heard you playing," he explained casually, "and considering the rumors I have heard, well, I had to see who _Il Usignolo _was – who could be so terrifying as to be dubbed the Nightingale. The phantom who haunts city after city, a man dead each time one of those songs echoes in the air."

She rolled her eyes. "It is their ridiculous name for me, I have my own name."

"And what would that be?" Ezio asked.

She blamed herself for walking straight into that one. "My name is of no importance to you."

"Quite the contrary," he disagreed. "It is a personal goal of mine to know the names of beautiful women like yourself." She almost laughed in disbelief. He did not see her as a threat now that he knew she was a woman, did he?

She rolled her eyes. "You certainly have your way with words."

He smirked. "It _is_ something I like to say is a skill of mine, I admit."

"Unfortunately, I am no stranger to smooth talkers." She scowled to herself in the darkness, pushing back the suppressed memories that were trying to surface.

"Who is your target here?" he asked, in such a way that it seemed like she was an old friend and he was casually asking the time of day.

She laughed at his audacity. "You underestimate me greatly if you think I am revealing such information to a perfect stranger."

"It is quite the opposite, as you look powerful," he said, this time in French, which greatly surprised her. "From one who kills to another … I like to believe there is a little pact of secrecy between us. Besides, who am I going to tell?"

"You may like to believe women will immediately trust you, Ezio Auditore," she commented with a raise of her eyebrow, "but I assure you, I am no fool."

He chuckled. "I never suggested it."

In that split second, she pinned him down to the ground and held up a dagger to his throat. She considered killing him and getting it over with then and there. He didn't even flinch underneath her. "You are calm in the face of death."

"Death has never scared me," he stated simply. "And for it to be brought to me by one such as you, well, there are worse ways to die."

She snorted, stood to her feet and tucked the dagger into her pocket. This target was actually interesting. She would gauge his true worth to society and then see if he was worth killing. The Assassin movement was far more prominent here than in her homeland. She wanted to study him.

A thing Colette did that was unlike most blades for hire was to judge the worth of the one she was designated to kill. She would not be controlled by those who hired her. It was a practice she'd learned from her father. Every man had his own story to tell. She would see if they were truly the plague on society her employers often firmly believed. And there was something very off about the man who had hired her. He was certainly wealthy, which she deduced by the size of him, and his accent did not sound fully Italian. She gave him credit for concealing it so well, however.

A Spanish accent is hard to hide, after all.

"It is dangerous to associate yourself with me," she said, and it seemed to go both ways. It was impossible not to consider the substantial sum of money that was being offered to her for this man's head. Befriending potential assassination targets was always an extraordinarily stupid idea, no matter which way one looked at it.

He shrugged as he sat up. "Danger and death are constant companions of mine."

"I have a special brand of danger that you are unfamiliar with," she explained, standing at the edge of the rooftop. "It is … well, too French for you to understand." And she leapt into the air, landing comfortably in someone's pile of hay. She emerged from the barrel and saw the Assassin staring over the edge at her. She knew he was smirking, despite the darkness.

* * *

It wasn't until the next morning that she realized that her flute was missing. She cursed under her breath and pushed herself up off of the ground she'd been sleeping on. It had to be about noon. She'd been sleepier than she originally suspected. With a sigh to herself, she made the tedious trek back to the roof top. She scowered every corner of it, frowning profusely to herself.

"By the Gods …" she muttered to herself. She could not go any further in this mission without her flute. It was simply inexcusable. And an insult to her father's memory. Exhaling sharply to herself, Colette began to wonder if it had fallen. She checked over the edge of the building and saw no signs of it on the ground.

She came to one conclusion – she would not be so careless as to leave it behind. That damn Assassin must have stolen it from her. Was this his idea of a joke? Her day officially ruined, she took off in the direction of Antonio's headquarters. Not a thing happened in Venice without his knowledge, and she was positive he could direct her in the direction of Ezio, wherever the hell he may be lurking.

With no desire to take to the rooftops, she stormed through the streets of Venice, weaving her way through the hustle and bustle. This move _greatly_ decreased his chances for survival. No one was to touch her _dizi._ That was one of the few possessions she owned. Her father had brought it back for her from his time abroad in the Orient, when her mother was still alive, and when she had no idea about what he did for a living. It was made out of the smooth black oak and was covered in golden stripes. Off the edge, there was a dark blue, silk tassel hanging.

"_Pratique tous les jours_," he had said as he handed her the strange object. She was about five years old, and entranced immediately with the foreign object. Colette was eager to practice every day, just as her father told her to. It would remind her of him while he was away. She yearned for his pride, and so whenever he would come home, she would insist on performing for him.

Finally, she reached the Thieves' Guild. She impatiently knocked on the door. Much to her annoyance, it was not Antonio that answered the door, but the loud, injured woman from the day before. Rosa, was it? "Who are you?"

"I am here to see Antonio," she said as politely as her current temper could manage.

"I didn't ask why you were here," Rosa replied sharply. "I asked who you were."

Colette frowned. Of course she was not going to make this easy. "I am a friend of Antonio's, so I ask again, where is he?"

"You don't look like a whore," Rosa assessed aloud, pursing her lips in thought, "but you clearly are not from around here. What business could you possibly have with Antonio?"

"Whatever business I have is none of _your_ business," Colette replied tonelessly, folding her arms across her chest.

Rosa grinned maliciously. "Got a tongue on you, eh?"

"What is going on out there, Rosa?" Colette's eyes widened with clarity at the sound of that voice, and surely enough, Ezio appeared beside the wounded thief. He lips turned up into a knowing smirk. Bastard. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, _Il Usignolo_?"

a word, she grabbed the Assassin by the collar of his uniform, dragged him outside of the house and slammed him against a nearby stone wall. She pressed the sharpest blade in her possession directly at his throat. "Where is my flute?"

The smirk never left his face. "Is this how one normally says hello in your homeland?"

"Do not play games with me, _chien d'Italien_," she snarled, entirely serious. "You will give me my flute or by God, I will chop your fingers off and wear them as a necklace."

He was completely unperturbed by her threat. "You seem to be very angry."

"Unhand him or I'll kill you where you stand, _troia_," Rosa barked as she hobbled over to the both of them, pointing a crutch at her threateningly.

"_Basta_, the three of you!" Antonio cried, raising both of his hands in the air with palms forward. He gave Colette a stern look. "Such violence is not like you, my dear."

"He stole something of mine," she said simply, making no attempt to remove the blade from his neck.

"You know this woman, Antonio?" Ezio asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"But of course," the thief lord replied with a broad smile. "Her father and I were good friends. I like to think of Colette as something of a surrogate daughter of mine." She scowled. Now he knew her name. Everything was going to hell before it even started.

"Colette?" Ezio repeated, the name rolling off his tongue. "I quite like it."

She pressed the blade into his skin. "You won't in a few moments unless you _give me my flute_."

"I always likened stealing to my business, Ezio," Antonio remarked. "And you have picked the wrong person. Colette has a temper, as you can see."

For a few moments, Ezio didn't say anything. Finally, he spoke. "What does the symbol on the end of it mean?"

She paused at the bizarreness of the question. Carved toward the bottom of the flute was an Oriental character. She had no idea what it meant until a merchant in England translated it for her a few years beforehand.

胜利.

"Victory," she answered curtly. Slowly, he reached into his garb and pulled her flute out, placing it gently in the hand that wasn't threatening his life. Roughly, she retracted the blade and sheathed it. Without a word more, she turned on her heel and began walking in the opposite direction.

"I thought you were much better with women, Ezio!" Antonio commented, catching up to Colette and grabbing her wrist. "My apologies for his behavior."

She exhaled sharply. "I suggest you let me go, Antonio. I have half a mind to kill him where he stands and I'd rather not do it in your presence." He chuckled quietly, but released her nonetheless. She scaled the side of the nearby buildings and disappeared over the roof tops.

* * *

When she finally reached an inn the farthest one could possibly go from the Thieves' Guild, she calmed down and took a deep breath. Yet again, her temper had gotten the best of her. She had a tendency to, when angry, go on an unstoppable war path. Time and time again it had proved to work against her, but it was a difficult thing to control. She ran her fingers over the smooth wood of the instrument, frowning to herself. She ordered herself some wine.

That flute was the only thing she had left. She was not about to lose it to some cheeky Italian Assassin. She sighed heavily and downed the goblet of drink in one gulp, her head already beginning to pound from a combination of stress and alcohol.

* * *

**Translations:**

_**Francia**_**: France**

_**Pratique tous les jours**_**: Practice every day**

_**Chien d'Italien**_**: Italian dog**

_**Troia**_**: Whore**

_**Basta**_**: Enough.**

**Just in case the Chinese characters don't show up, I chose the phrase for 'victory', and I do believe it's pronounced 'shengli', or something of that sort. If it's wrong, I apologize, but I don't exactly have access to accurate Chinese translations, lololol.**


End file.
